


The Desecrate

by aTasteofCaramell



Category: Marvel (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Thor (2011), Fear-Induced Sickness, Gen, Kid Loki and Kid Thor, Nightmares, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-11
Updated: 2013-05-11
Packaged: 2017-12-11 12:22:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/798682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aTasteofCaramell/pseuds/aTasteofCaramell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki discovers at a young age what a terrifying thing it is to be cursed.</p><p> </p><p>(For those who care, I now have an email address (atasteofcaramell at gmail dot com) and a Twitter account where I will post writing progresses (twitter.com/tasteofcaramell).)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Desecrate

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: some non-graphic blood

Loki believed in curses. 

He listened with wide eyes to stories in the Great Hall, his mouth set in a grim line, leaning forward while he sat on his knees, staring into the fire; a picture of concentration. His brow would furrow and he would become tense as the storytellers became animated with the excitement of the story. They told tales of warriors haunted by actions past; selfishness and greed always brought on curses. There would be prophets and enchanters that cursed the cowards and the wicked. Noble men were cursed by lapses in virtue; in most stories, they repented of their mistakes and fought their way to honor. But in some stories, they did not turn back; they continued on their path; they diminished and became the wicked in the next tale. 

Thor usually sat beside him, leaning up against the golden brick of the mantel, facing away from the flames instead of towards them like Loki did. He would fiddle with wooden figures attached to string, bouncing his legs. He enjoyed warriors’ tales, but he never could sit still, and from time to time would get up and circle the room before coming back to sit beside Loki again. Loki, on the other hand, never stirred. He often found himself becoming dizzy in the midst of the storytelling, and Thor would poke him and whisper, “Loki, you’re holding your breath again.” 

After the evening was late and the telling finished, the two princes would walk down the corridors to their chambers. Thor would run and jump ahead, reenacting battle and dramatic scenes, sometimes with the help of Volstagg or Fandral. Loki always walked behind, his hands in his pockets, and his mind drifting through the threads of the tale, remembering the conversations and the poetic ominous curses and valiant blessings. 

In the early afternoon of one day, Loki lay on his back on a hill covered in grassy heather, one knee crossed over the other. The sun shone down, blinding and golden, while he stared up at the cloudless deep blue sky. A celebratory tournament and feasting covered the valley below in the Festival of Idises; the celebration of renewal. Tents dotted the green with explosions of color and the smells of smoke and sweets and mead stirred with the smells of the water and grass. The festivities had paused for an hour of relaxation, sleeping, and quiet conversation. Quiet barking got gradually louder, and Loki sat up. Thor raced towards him, hair flying and clothes muddied as he chased and was chased by two of the palace guard dogs. Loki grinned as they reached him. Thor threw himself down on the heather and the older and larger of the two dogs did the same, while the younger continued to run in circles. 

“You are missing out on all the fun!” Thor exclaimed. 

Loki reached over his brother’s lap to scratch behind the dog’s ear. “I like it up here.”

 Thor tucked his fingers under his collar as a breeze wafted the sweet-smelling grass, bringing a cooling freshness to the air. “But there is plenty of time to sit on hills. Idises only comes once a century! It will be ages before we can enjoy it again!”

Loki shrugged. He had spent all morning in the valley. Silence fell over the two boys, and the younger of the dogs eventually threw itself down at their feet and fell asleep. 

Loki looked down at the quiet tents. “It is during times such as Idises that curses are rampant.”

Thor’s nose wrinkled as he looked at his brother. “What? What in the name of Skuld makes you say something like _that_?”

“I have been thinking,” Loki said.

“You think far too much,” Thor muttered. Loki ignored him.

“I was thinking,” he repeated, “How strange it is that it is during the times of greatest joy and peace that reckless crimes and idiotic mistakes are made, even by noble people. Crimes and mistakes are where curses are born.”

Thor flopped back on the hillside with one arm over his eyes. “Looookiiii, you don’t actually believe that curses pop up whenever somebody does something wrong.”

“No, not every time, but often.”

Thor sat back up, nudging the puppy with his foot. “I don’t believe curses are as real or as common as you say. Especially when people do things for the fun of it, and without real harm.”

Loki turned his gaze on him, resting his head in his hand. “You don’t believe actions have consequences?”

“Not always. And most certainly not in _curses_.”

This alternative reality had never occurred to him. “Fáfnir was cursed simply by owning cursed gold.”

Thor rolled his eyes and let out a short breath. “Fáfnir is a story.”

“He grew greedy and changed into a dragon and was killed because of it.”

“In a story.” Thor stood up.  The puppy jerked awake and leapt up as well, ready to run once again. “Really, Loki! For someone that Father says is so clever, I wouldn’t expect you to put so much faith in curses as punishments.”

Loki blinked, stung. “If curses were not real, why would we tell about them?” he demanded, getting to his feet.

“To teach us children to ‘always do what is noble and good’,” Thor said, deadpan, reciting. “Adults make up stories to push children into good behavior. You don’t really believe that Frost Giants will come devour you if you leave your bed, do you?” He rubbed his muddied hands on his pants. “Now come on. The fun is about to start again. Father is going to be battling after dinner!”

Loki ran with Thor back down the hill, the two barking dogs at their heels. They sought out their playmates Fandral and Volstagg and spent the next few hours dodging among the adults and eating the Idises gratisweets. They flustered and charmed the baking-women until they received half-given, half-stolen rolls, with Thor and the others distracting the women while Loki slipped around behind and gathered the hot bread into his arms. They were never scolded upon discovery, only laughed at, and the younglings dashed and danced their way off with the booty in their hands. Loki became almost as dusty and muddied as the others. 

After the early evening meal, things became more calm and solemn, though still sparkling with the joy of rebirth. Thor and Loki, out of breath and tired, but not sleepy, didn’t squirm during the speeches and plays that followed. But then the excitement began to grow once more as the torches were lit and the Allfather came into the ring to display his undying skill. 

Thor leapt to his feet and Loki followed suit. His first opponent was Njordir, ruler of Vanaheim. Most of the rest of Asgard and the visiting delegations were standing as well, many trying to push themselves to the front. 

“Go on, Father! Go on! You are superior in everything!” Thor cheered, bouncing on his feet while the two friends circled each other. 

As he stood there with the events of the day trailing through his mind, Loki remembered another festival from when he was younger, a smaller one, and not of Idises, in which a knight of Nidavellir won the greatest tournament. He went home, and after he did, it was discovered that he had cheated his way into the contest in the first place. It was too late to do anything about it, though. Every year there was a new dishonoring story about him. But despite that, he was now the chief minister of Hreidmar, one of the wealthiest people in all the Nine Realms and, if Loki remembered correctly, had two or three wives. Disgraceful behavior certainly seemed to reward him.

Then Loki remembered another event. This one from history; of a sacrificial peasant who had undergone torture by Svartalfheim, survived to warn Vanaheim about the coming of their enemies, but was denounced as insane and sent away, only to die later of his injuries. Yet Vanaheim survived, and that careless king thrived. Where was the justice in that?

Odin disarmed Njordir, and the two shook hands before he turned to smile and nod two his two sons amidst the good-natured cheering of Aesir and Vanir alike. Loki applauded, grinning, while Thor jumped up and down, wildly ecstatic.

 _Perhaps not,_ Loki thought as Odin readied for his next opponent. _Perhaps curses are not as hiddenly rampant as I thought._

 

Thor was restless again. It didn’t take much for Thor to be restless—a few hours of sleep replenished his energy without fail—but word passed among the caretakers of the princes that Thor was in a “hyperactive” state and to take care. 

To Loki it seemed perfectly natural that Thor was always moving. He thought it rather funny how the adults seemed to find his energy exasperating. Loki enjoyed it; that energy could be tapped for the greatest social explosions. 

The adults blamed the ending of the festival; holidays filled younglings’ heads with adventure and heroics, and the Princes were no exception. Every day Thor, Loki, and the others would be out, running through the gardens, dodging those who came after to corral them. The stories of warriors, battles, and obstacles filled their minds. Thor could recite and reenact the wars with frightening accuracy, and the excitement and longing for adventure sent burning coals into their souls which set them to running about with seemingly senseless purpose. They were not hyperactive children, careless of upsetting pitchers and smashing lilies; they were warriors, defending their beloved Asgard, Realm of Eternal Summer, from spies and demons.

The palace held many temptations as well. Thor loved the outdoors; there was room to run and shout without his actions being magnified to the deafening boom of thunder. He longed for the weapons of warriors to admire and wield in his battles on the green. Loki, when he was not with Thor, fulfilled his own desires in a different way. He slipped through the palace like a shadow, stalking servants into inner rooms that he normally didn’t bother to enter; servants quarters, kitchens, and cellars, mostly, but also more enchanting. The guarded rooms; weapons and conference chambers full of secrets. 

The Weapons Vault. The Keeper of the most powerful and dangerous of artifacts. Loki had been in it before, of course, many times. But never without Father. Now he tried to visit it again, but could not get close without being seen. The vault was like a huge box, suspended in an airy space deep in the bowels of the palace; far from the walls, the only paths were two clear, long catwalks. He had not visited it since Idises, and he burned with renewed curiosity. They told tales of some of these artifacts, and he wanted to renew his memory.

He thought of Thor, as well. Thor’s fierce desire to be a great warrior outshone Loki’s own. He watched the Weapons Vault at a distance for some time, and then could resist no longer.

“Thor, how would you like to hold Mjolnir?” Loki hung from the branches of a tree by his legs, his shirt falling partway and exposing his stomach. Thor paused in his stone-throwing target-practice with Volstagg and looked up.

“You should come down from there, Loki. All of your blood is going to your head and addling your brains.”

Volstagg snickered. Loki pulled himself up, grabbed the branch with his hands, slid his legs off, and fell to the ground. He hit the dirt hard and fell over on his backside. He remained sitting as if he had planned it that way, and ignored Volstagg’s laughing. “Well? Should you like to hold Mjolnir?”

“Of course. Some day.” Thor resumed his stone-throwing, aiming at an acorn perched atop a wall.

Volstagg bent over to gather up more rocks. “But he could not lift it now, even if he was let into the Weapons Vault to touch it!”

“What if you did get into the Vault?”

Volstagg and Thor both stopped, turning around and giving Loki hard looks where he sat. Loki stared back with feigned innocence before he let a grin split his face.

“Loki,” Thor said, slowly, “What are you planning now?”

“I know a way into the Weapons Vault,” Loki said, tucking his arms around his knees. “And I challenge you to come with me and try to lift Mjolnir.”

“You know Father doesn’t allow us to touch the artifacts.” Thor frowned, putting his hands into his pockets and taking them out again, redundantly, from nervousness.

Loki laughed. “Of course! Otherwise it wouldn’t be a challenge—or fun.” Thor didn’t answer. “Well? Do you want to go into the Vault and prove yourself an early warrior or not?”

Thor got a glint in his eyes, and he glanced around at the empty garden space. “Very well. I accept on one condition: I dare you to lift the Casket of Ancient Winters whilst I lift Mjolnir!”

Chills ran up Loki’s back and he hesitated for a split instant. If touching Mjolnir was forbidden, touching the Casket was thrice so. He had tried on his first ever visit in the vault as a very small child, drawn to its deadly azure. Odin had pulled him back an instant before his fingers met its surface and struck the backs of his hands, hard. The pain had brought him to tears. Mjolnir was a noble weapon, but the Casket was a weapon of their enemies; the very heart of Jotunheim. Mjolnir was dangerous. The Casket was deadly.

The chills changed to pleasurable excitement of the forbidden. Loki could not stop the smile snaking its way onto his face. “You have yourself a bargain, Brother.”

“Both of your brains are addled,” Volstagg declared. “Something in the palace’s midday meal has poisoned you.”

“Do you wish to come?” Loki asked, feeling generous for extending such an invitation.

“Please do, Volstagg!” Thor pleaded.

“No!” Volstagg held up his hands. “You are Princes among your own things. I would be trespassing! My father would kill me when we were caught!”

“We won’t be caught,” Loki said, with certainty, simultaneously annoyed and amused that Volstagg assumed so. “But if you don’t wish to go, do not tell anyone and spoil it for Thor and me.”

“I won’t tell. In fact, I’ll leave now. I don’t want a part of your insanity in any way!” Volstagg dusted his hands on his trousers. “I think my sister is calling me.” Without another word, he ran off and disappeared around the bend.

Thor spent a moment pouting after Volstagg abandoned him, and then turned to Loki with a fierce grin. “Shall we go now?”

“No, we must wait until after we go to bed and the palace is quiet. See,” Loki knelt down and made a sketch in the dirt of their path, explaining it to Thor in detail.

That evening, Loki slipped out of bed and went to fetch Thor. Without bothering to dress, Loki led his brother down back servant’s passageways to the Vault. As they drew close, Loki pulled Thor into an alcove before the doors that lead to the catwalks down to the Vault. 

“What are we doing again?” Thor’s whisper was loud, and his breath hit Loki’s neck.

“We’re waiting for the change of guard,” Loki hissed back. “When they come, we will follow behind them. There are pillar supports on the walk that extend to the ceiling, and we will hide behind them as the guards pass. Once the change is completed, we keep going and go into the Vault when the guards are not looking.”

“It will be a good test to see how easily Frost Giants could sneak in to steal the Casket!” Thor’s fingers tapped against the floor.

“Not at all. We are much smaller. We have a great advantage over Frost Giants.”

The princes waited and followed the change of guards in just as Loki planned. Loki went in front with Thor just behind him. When they reached the pillars, the guards they followed kept moving, and Loki shoved Thor in the direction of one while he himself knelt at the foot of the other. They stayed there until the other guards passed, on their way back up the walk. 

Loki peeked around his pillar, then motioned to Thor. They crept to one of the smaller side stairwells, huddling in the shadows until Loki ventured forward and pushed one of the double-doors. It cracked open without a sound, and he dove into it, followed by Thor. They shut it again behind them and rested for a moment, breathing hard. Thor gave him a brilliant grin. 

“We need to hurry,” Loki whispered. “I think they enter the Vault itself sometimes.”

They tiptoed down the short corridor, the artifacts ominously glowing or reflecting light on their pedestals; dead things that seemed to watch them.

“There is Mjolnir.” Loki nudged Thor’s shoulder, pointing to the left.

“And there’s the Casket,” Thor said sarcastically, pointing straight ahead where it was obviously visible. He stepped down into the stall where Mjolnir sat, its handle resting against the wall. He hesitated, and then reached out and ran his hand over the handle. “Oooh, Loki,” he said, “It feels alive! I think…” He gripped the handle and pulled, but the hammer didn’t budge. Thor stopped trying and instead knelt down and pressed his fingers against the head. “It’s humming,” said Thor. “Can you hear it?”

Loki couldn’t, but he could see the faint runes becoming visible under Thor’s touch.

“I’m going to go touch the Casket now,” Loki said, but Thor didn’t move. “Thor?”

“Go ahead,” Thor said, his gaze fastened on Mjolnir, his voice strangely, uncharacteristically soft.

Loki stared at him, puzzled, and then shrugged and continued down the hallway to fulfill his end of the bargain. The Casket glowed, designs of white and sapphire swirling through it at an alarming rate. As he got closer, his steps faltered. The Casket had depth, chaos nestled at its core. Its wild clouds bent and changed, seeming to become more and more alive and menacing. Loki’s steps slowed, and then stopped altogether. He stood in front of it, a mere foot away, feeling frozen in place with his arms stiff at his sides. He couldn’t hear Mjolnir, but he could hear the Casket; its storms audible and growing in volume.  

He heard the door open behind him. Loki ducked and threw himself into the nearest hiding place—behind the Casket’s pedestal. His heart pounded too loud in his ears to hear who it was who had entered, but he couldn’t hear any voices. It was just a cursory check, just the guards peeking in, perhaps taking a quick stroll through to verify that everything was in order.

Loki looked up at the Casket as he crouched beneath it. It was closer now, above him, and he could feel its icy glow on his face. The glass—if it was glass—shimmered and reflected its own inner clash of darkness and light. Loki’s heart did not stop pounding and it was a long moment before he realized that his right hand was going up to touch the smooth sapphire surface.

Fear struck him, and Loki suddenly couldn’t breathe, but he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t even look at his hand as it edged nearer, just at the center of the casket in which the storms were brewed. Then his hand came into his line of vision as it suddenly surged forward, like a magnetic attraction, and his palm struck the Casket’s surface.

For an instant Loki’s thoughts froze at the strange sensation. An itching on his hand, and then it suddenly struck deeper, painlessly tearing through his flesh. Loki’s vision wavered.

_It’s burning me._

Loki tried to pull back, told his frozen body to move, but it didn’t listen to him. His palm stretched out further, feeling the surface, and then his vision was restored. 

The Casket’s glow was shining through his hand.

No.

Loki’s mouth dropped open as he watched his flesh change before his eyes. In an instant he took in the cold, harsh blue pushing away the Aesir pale, grooves deepening and ridges raising in patterned designs. Loki’s breath stuck in his throat.

“Loki!” Thor’s voice broke through his daze, and Loki awoke. He struggled once more to pull away. This time his body listened, tugging back, but his hand remained fastened to the Casket as if glued. Loki’s heart rate rocketed upwards; the sensation spread up his arm, and Loki knew more of him was changing. The Casket grew more excited, vibrating under his fingers. His knees hit the ground as his legs went weak, no longer allowing him to crouch. Tears filled his eyes, blurring the world.

“Loki! They’ve gone! We should go now!”

Loki could not stand. He shook all over, gasping. He grasped his wrist with his free hand, feeling a chill spreading through his clothing and pulled back, desperately. A whimper tore from his throat, raw and burning.

His skin left the surface and he fell backwards.

“Loki?”

The sensation stopped, was reversed. Something came back up his arm, covering him, warming him in comforting familiarity. 

Thor rounded the pedestal. Loki tucked his exposed hand under the armpit of his other arm, shaking, feeling the numbness of his affected arm.

Thor stared at him. “What’s wrong?”

Loki looked up at the Casket. It seemed suddenly normal again, ominous, gently whispering to itself. “We should go,” he managed in a husky voice. 

They left the Vault, escaped to the upper rooms. Only when he was back in his room by himself, with the door shut, did Loki force himself to look down at his hand.

It was back to the normal, and only numb because of how hard he had pressed it underneath his other arm. He held it in lamplight, turning it over and over. He took off all of his nightclothes and examined his whole body. It was the same as ever. Loki redressed and crawled back into bed, but he didn’t lie down, only sat under the covers with his knees drawn up and staring at his hand.

It looked normal, but Loki wasn’t fooled. He knew what had happened. He recognized the flesh that touched the casket not as his own, but of what he’d seen in illustrations, and once from a distance.

Frost Giant.

Loki’s mouth was dry, and he started to shake.

_I am cursed._

He did not sleep that night. He should have listened to Father. Of course touching the Casket was forbidden. The Casket was cursed, and now Loki was too. It had started changing him into a monster. It would not stop now; he had touched it, and now he was cursed. He did not dare to leave the bed, or to stop gazing at his hand. He undressed and redressed a few more times, just to check. He rubbed his hands together, checking that it did not grow too cold. He felt cold, and gathered up all of his blankets and wrapped it around him in many layers, sitting like that, shivering, until he at last began to perspire. But he did not dare uncover himself. Perhaps heat was keeping it away; the blankets surrounded him like a shield. 

When at last light began to shine through his windows, the shadows in his room did not seem so ominous and Loki dared to creep out of bed and change into his clothes. He splashed water on his face, trying to be rid of the puffy tiredness that hung about his eyes. It worked, and Loki left the room in search of breakfast. 

Thor was practically glowing at the table. He beamed, laughed, set everybody to laughing; he seemed revitalized and strengthened by visiting Mjolnir. It had been a wonderful experience for him. Loki tried to smile, tried to be happy for him. He could not stop his yawning.

“Did you sleep all right last night, Prince Loki?” one of his menservants inquired. Loki just shrugged and waved him off as he stared at Thor with growing jealousy and seeds of anger.

Mjolnir had not been cursed. This was Thor’s fault. He had dared Loki to touch the Casket; he who did not believe in curses; how wrong he had been.

Growing angrier by the minute, Loki left the table early and sought out solitude in the corners of the gardens, but he couldn’t escape Thor for long. 

“Loki! Do you think we could go again?” Thor burst in upon him. “After a little while? Just to see? You could touch Mjolnir too; it would be wonderful!”

“No!” Loki snapped. “Not again, not ever.”

Thor stopped short, looking stunned. “What? Why not?”

“I’m tired,” Loki muttered. “Leave me alone.”

“Loki, what’s—”

“Leave me alone!” Loki yelled, and Thor, startled into silence, retreated and ran off to find Fandral and Volstagg.

Loki was immediately overwhelmed with guilt. It wasn’t Thor’s fault; it was his. He had suggested going into the Vault; he had known curses were real, and he had made the foolish decision to ignore his Father’s commands and his own knowledge. It wasn’t Thor’s fault. It was his. 

Loki shivered. The hot sun seemed suddenly entirely too hot; the breeze entirely too dry. He went inside and wandered the halls before going to his room. He undressed and examined himself again, and then took a bath. He opened all of the curtains so that the sun shone in, and then lay down on his bed and fell asleep.

“Prince Loki? Are you all right? Do you feel ill?”

A gentle voice and a hand on his forehead woke him up, and Loki forced his tired eyes open, emerging from deep waves of sleep. Startled, the events of yesterday flooding through his mind, Loki jerked up into a sitting position and looked at his hand. It was normal. He relaxed in relief.

“Prince Loki?”

Loki looked up at the manservant, Hflar. “I’m all right,” he said, and actually felt that it might be true. The shadows in his room were different, and he knew that he’d slept a long time.

“Are you sure?”

Loki nodded and climbed out of bed, going down to seek out Thor.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” Loki said when he managed to catch his brother, who had kept ducking around corners and actively avoiding him. “We can go again, if you like.”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Thor said in a small voice.

“I want to,” Loki half-lied, unsure. He wanted some sort of assurance of the curse. He had no doubt a curse had started working on him, but he had pulled away before it had taken complete effect, and it had not returned. Perhaps…

The events faded from his mind, though did not go away for the next few weeks. Loki still checked himself every time he undressed, but the curse failed to reappear, and Loki decided it was time to go back into the Vault. Sometimes you could find a blessing to counteract a curse. Good was stronger than evil. Mjolnir was stronger than the Casket.

He could have gone by himself, but he took Thor with him. The pathways to the Vault were dark and too shadowed for comfort. It felt strengthening to have Thor with him. As they snuck once again into the Vault, Loki kept his gaze averted from the Casket and instead knelt with Thor next to Mjolnir. Thor again seemed fascinated, and while Loki could feel the magic running through it—and he could probably feel it better than Thor—he didn’t share the same level of intimacy with the object that Thor seemed to have. 

Loki stood up and glanced at the Casket. His heart rate began to rise. 

_I will defeat this._

Loki forced himself to move closer, and as he watched, the Casket once again began to become more animated as he neared it. 

_I am the son of Odin and I have touched Mjolnir. You can’t affect me._

Loki knew he should stop, but it wasn’t until he came dangerously close that he realized he hadn’t. Prickles ran up his neck. The shadows to the sides and behind moved.

It was that force again. That magnetic force. Stronger, he thought, the coldness reaching out to him and pulling him closer. His hand lifted. His skin tingled. 

The Casket struck out with a flash of light, shadows leapt, and a foreign roar and Loki stared into the glistening face made of crystals with two dripping eyes.

He hit the floor with a cry. Loki heard himself gasping, and he felt cold. His right hand felt very cold. Numb.

“What’s wrong with you?” Thor’s voice said from behind him.

Loki tried to speak but he couldn’t get any words out. His hand throbbed. Loki scrambled to his feet and fled, pulling a confused Thor with him as he raced away. 

In his room in the middle of the night once more, Loki refused to examine himself as he jumped into bed and pulled the blankets over his head, his hyperventilation loud in his ears underneath the covers, in the darkness. 

He lay there for a long time without moving. His hand tickled, and then the rest of him did, as if a thousand tiny insects crawled over his skin. He shivered, suddenly frozen, and Loki threw back the covers and sat up, looking at himself in the mirror, into glaring red eyes. Then he screamed.

Loki’s eyes popped open and he lurched upwards, staring at himself in the mirror. 

He was normal. Not a Frost Giant; his eyes were green. Loki shook all over, weakly gathering the blankets to his chest as he began to sob. Not from the nightmare, but from his own stupidity and recklessness. Why had he again approached the Casket, when he knew it to be cursed? Why did he feel he had no control over his body when he was in the Vault?

He continued to cry, muffling his sobs in his hands or the blankets or the pillows until morning came again. 

 

Loki again splashed water on his face, but he couldn’t quite wake up. He went through the day in a daze, spending time by himself, unable to face Thor or the others, because they wanted him to play with them and he couldn’t make himself. 

Exhausted, he went to bed early and fell asleep quickly. 

“Prince Loki, it’s time to get up. Why are you still asleep?”

Loki forced his eyes open. It was dark in the room still. What…? 

He jerked backwards with a gasp as the servant’s skin melted into black with a green tinge, mouth opening full of teeth and lurching forward, hands grasping at him. Loki screamed, falling backwards over the bed. 

Something inside his head grabbed a hold of him in a freezing touch as the monster rounded the bed and stood over him, reptilian claws grasping and tearing at his arms as it pulled him up. Loki heard himself snarling and he struck out at the beast. Liquid splashed his hands. Loki blinked, and he stood in his pajamas with the sunlight pouring in, and a servant staring up at him in shock, on the ground, neck slashed and bleeding dry. Loki looked down at his hands, and saw their blue covered in bloody ice. 

Loki jerked awake, throat full of horror, and he stripped to look at himself again. In the shadowy darkness, it was hard to tell, but he was still Aesir. Loki whimpered as he lay down again, too afraid to get up, and tried to go to sleep again. 

When the morning came, he didn’t get up. He couldn’t get warm. He wrapped himself in a cocoon again and tried to warm up. The light came in and shone on his bed, but Loki didn’t move. Exhaustion pulled at him, but he didn’t dare go to sleep. If the servants came in to wake him and startled him—

He didn’t know what would happen.

Hflar did come in. “Prince Loki, it’s time to get up.”

Loki stared at him, suspicious, wondering if he was truly awake. The manservant smiled at him as he pulled the curtains back. Loki winced, pulling the blankets further around his face. 

Hflar raised an eyebrow. “Come on now, Loki. You know better than to refuse to rise.”

Loki forced himself out of the blankets, checking his skin as he did so. Without a word, he obediently got dressed and went downstairs. He wasn’t hungry, though.

“Do you feel all right?” Frigga seemed to notice.

Loki nodded, and pretended to eat by pushing his food around more and taking three bites. He wasn’t hungry come lunch time, either, or supper. He dreaded going to bed, but he did without a word.

The nightmares came again. Something foreign grabbed his mind, freezing and changing him, and he had visions of himself losing control in a fit of rage and he _killed_ people. Lots of people; running throughout the palace, until he came to Thor. He was terrified, and there were other Frost Giants too, but Loki couldn’t control himself. He cornered Thor, who begged and cried and screamed out “Loki, what’s happened to you?”

“I’m cursed,” Loki replied.

Something grabbed his shoulders and shook him, and Loki’s eyes opened to Hflar’s worried face. “Prince Loki?”

Loki couldn’t stop shivering. 

“You were screaming in your sleep,” Hflar explained, his hand going to his forehead again. “Are you all right?”

Loki still couldn’t stop shaking. “Just a nightmare,” he managed.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” He couldn’t, because the nightmare wasn’t a nightmare. It was a prophecy about what was going to happen. “Please get away.”

Hflar backed away, still staring at him with concerned, gentle eyes. Loki wanted nothing more than Hflar to continue to hold his hand, and go get Frigga to chase the dreams away. But Loki didn’t want to risk it. He was afraid. He was cursed. He might change at any moment to a monster who could not control himself. 

Loki wrapped himself into his cocoon and did not sleep. He grew very hot and felt sweat seeping though his nightclothes and wetting the blankets, but he didn’t let himself out. He felt the tears coming, and he let some of them out. 

This time, when morning came, Loki refused to get out of bed. He stayed wrapped in his cocoon, shivering and sweltering. Hflar tried to get him to unwrap, but Loki insisted. Hflar left, and Loki slipped into sleep, only to awaken screaming once more.

Eir, the palace healer, came in and asked him to come out. 

“No.”

Eir felt his forehead. “You are feverish,” she said, smoothing his hair back. “It is best for you to stay in bed. I’ll have someone bring you something to eat.”

Dread stabbed through him. Was his transformation starting? Did his cursed body become intolerant to warmth now? “I’m not hungry,” Loki said in a small voice.

“Well, try to eat anyway. You didn’t eat much yesterday, did you?”

Loki shook his head. He lay looking at the ceiling and blinking hard to stay awake. Someone brought in warm broth that had the smell of healing magic on it. Maybe it could help the curse. Loki sat up and drank from the bowl. Eir came back and ran her fingers up and down his arm that she pulled from his cocoon, humming softly. After a while her humming stopped and she looked puzzled.

“Loki, did you play with any sick children the past few days? Any that seemed unwell in any way?”

Loki didn’t look into her eyes. “No.” 

“Did you contact anything strange? Did anyone dare you to eat something strange from the garden?”

“No.”

Eir was confused because this was a strange sickness. Eir didn’t know it was from a curse. 

“I see,” Eir said, letting go of his arm. Loki pulled it back underneath the blankets. “Try to sleep now.”

Loki obeyed, and he woke up in a deep pool. His limbs were leaden, and he waved them through the water. He couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t need to. Its dark chill seeped through him. He reached upwards through the water, where the sunlight gave a distant glow. Ice grew from his hand and shot through the pond, freezing it solid, but leaving a staircase for Loki. He climbed up and rose out of the water.

Families picnicked on the side in the grass, a few children poking at the frozen pond in bewilderment. Then they looked up and started screaming. Loki jerked back. Aesir soldiers appeared from nowhere, running at him. Loki held up his hands, trying to explain, he wasn’t bad—he didn’t—they struck at him and he fell backwards.

“I’m Loki!” he cried to them. “I’m Prince Loki! Odin is my father!”

“Liar! Lying Frost Giant!” They raised their weapons and were going to kill him. 

Loki leapt to his feet and ran. The soldiers tried to follow, slipping on the ice that was so firm beneath his feet. But there were still too many of them, and they grabbed him even as they fell.

“Father!” Loki screamed, pushing at the soldiers. Ice shot from his fingers, slashing at their throats and making the ice red with frozen blood. 

Loki’s heart froze along with the rest of him. He had killed his Father’s men. He was a traitor to Asgard.

Suddenly Odin was there too, shouting at him, “What have you done to my forces, Frost Giant?”

Loki looked around and saw that there were many more than he thought—dead, piled, blood pooling. 

“Father, it’s me,” he whimpered.

“Liar. My son would not do this. My son does not slaughter Aesir!” 

Loki tried to speak, found himself only able to growl, and Odin lifted Gungnir and threw it at him. Loki ducked, struck it away, but its magic shot him and he sank to his knees, throwing out his hands. To his horror, the ice shot forth again and Odin fell.

_“FATHER!”_

From somewhere behind him, his mother screamed. Loki collapsed, the ice broke, and the pond swallowed him.

Someone shook him awake. “Loki!”

Loki opened his eyes. Eir held his face in her hands. “Loki, what’s wrong?”

Loki couldn’t see. Tears burned him. “Get away,” he whispered.

“Loki, you’re awake now. Everything’s all right.” 

Everything was _not all right._ He could not be healed, and Loki felt his hands freezing. “Get back!” he cried. Eir tried physically to take the blankets off. Loki struck out at her hands. “Leave me be!” he cried, and then could not stop the terrified tears that followed.

He had hit Eir. He hadn’t even thought about it. He had just hit her.

It was getting closer.

Eir left, and some time later, Frigga came in. Fear struck Loki’s heart even as it leapt out in longing to be held.

“Loki,” Frigga sat on the bed, a safe distance away. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Loki’s voice shook as he did, wet with tears, overwhelmed with guilt. It was an obvious lie; obvious to him, obvious to Frigga, obvious to him that it was obvious to Frigga. He had to tell them. He had to tell them before it was too late.

“Do you feel ill?”

“No.”

Frigga leaned forward and touched his forehead. “You are very warm.”

“I’m cold.” Loki told the truth as he kept shivering. 

“Do you want something to eat?”

“No.” 

“Eir is very worried about you. Please tell me what’s bothering you, Loki.”

Loki couldn’t bear it. He burst into tears. Frigga leaned forward again, and it was only after he felt her arms around him that Loki jerked to his senses as he jerked backwards, falling off the edge of the bed. Frigga swiftly rounded it.

The reptilian, the cold sensation, the bloody ice.

Loki shrank back in terror, pressing himself against the wall as he started screaming. “No, no, _no._ ”

“Loki!” His mother was leaning down.

“Stay away!” Loki screamed, unable to see through the tears, and feeling bursts of freezing cold now that he was out of the blankets. Terror shot through him and he didn’t know what he was doing. Pain burst through his knuckles. “Stay back, please, please, _please_ …”

“Loki!”

“I don’t want to hurt you!” The words burst out from somewhere inside of him. Frigga’s blurry shape leaned back. 

“What?”

Loki curled into a ball. He whimpered. “I don’t want to hurt you. Please, Mother. I don’t want to hurt you.” He covered his head with his arms as terrifying pain twisted his core and he started screaming.

Frigga stood, away from him. “Eir!”

Loki couldn’t hear, see, or understand what went on around him then. The sobs came out from deep inside of him and he rubbed his hands together, desperately, trying to keep them warm. If they didn’t get cold, he wouldn’t change. He wouldn’t, wouldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , wouldn’t, _wouldn’t_ —

He heard as if from a great distance, his own voice sobbing and screaming. An innocent, scared voice broke through his desperate deafness. 

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with Loki?”

“Go back outside, Thor.”

“What’s wrong with Loki?”

“Go.”

“But Mother—”

“Now, Thor.”

“But what’s wrong with Loki?”

“Loki, listen to me.”

Loki’s eyes opened and he stared at the side of his bed, his hands tucked under his arms as he curled in a fetal position on the floor. 

Eir’s voice was calm, coming from somewhere above him. “I’m going to help you, all right? I’m going to take you to the medical chambers so I can take the nightmares away.”

But they weren’t nightmares. That wouldn’t work, because they _weren’t nightmares_. Nightmares weren’t the trouble; the trouble was the nightmares coming true. He whimpered, and then screamed, jerking as hands touched him, and then the world melted away.

He woke up in a different bed and in different nightclothes. They were wet now, too, because he was still freezing and hot. There was a voice in the back of his mind, mocking him and growling; a monster waiting to come out.

Eir was there. “You’re all right, Loki.”

But he wasn’t. 

“You’re all right. Why do you think you would hurt your mother?”

He didn’t answer, shivering, still covered in shame. The Casket glowed in the Vault, calling to him and mocking. 

_You are the next villain in the stories._

He was going to hurt them. He was. No, he wouldn’t. He didn’t want to. He dreaded it. 

He started crying again. He knew what he had to do. 

“I need Father.”

“You want your father, Loki?”

“I need to talk to Father.”

“He is asking for the Allfather.”

“Please don’t listen. I want to talk to him by myself.”

“Do you think you’re going to hurt him, Loki?”

The tears kept coming and he didn’t answer.

“Loki?”

He opened his mouth and his voice fled as he whispered, “Tell him to bring Gungnir with him.”

_I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die._

“He’s right here, Loki.”

“Here I am, Loki.”

Loki looked up at his father, relieved and terrified, comforted by the spear in his father’s hand. 

“You may leave, Eir. Thank you.”

Loki waited, trembling, until Eir left and shut the door behind her. Then he sat up and slid out of bed.

“Loki, you should not be moving. You’re ill.” 

He shied away from his father’s touch, almost collapsing to the floor at his father’s feet.

“Loki!” The Allfather started to kneel down, setting Gungnir on the bed. Loki threw himself backwards, terrified.

“Pick it up!” he pleaded. “Pick it back up and don’t touch me!”

The Allfather hesitated, and then obeyed. Loki sat back up on his knees, head bowed. 

“Forgive me, Father.”

“Forgive you? For what?”

“I disobeyed you.” Loki was terrified, but more terrified of what might happen if he didn’t speak. “Please forgive me, Father! I disobeyed you and I am cursed.”

The Allfather didn’t say anything.

The words poured out, faster, desperate, panicked. “I went into the Weapons Vault. I ignored your warnings and I touched the Casket. It cursed me, Father; I’m changing, and I can’t stop it. I’m going to hurt you all and I can’t sleep. I’m sorry. I’m so _sorry._ The curse is going to make me hurt you all. It’s changing me into a Frost Giant.” Loki didn’t mean for the next words to slip out. “Help me, Father. Please, please, please help me. I’m so sorry. Help me.”

He was crying again, but without tears. His chest heaved and he gasped, staring down at his hands and feeling the prickling underneath his skin. 

“Loki.”

“I’m sorry,” Loki whispered. 

“Loki, listen to me.” His Father knelt down, Gungnir still in one hand. “You are not going to hurt any of us.”

“Yes I am. You must believe me, Father. It wasn’t an illusion, I _felt_ the change and—”

“No, it wasn’t an illusion.”

Those words stabbed him and he went weak, his breathes shuddering. He’d wanted his Father to deny it; explain it; make the fear go away.

“It wasn’t an illusion, Loki, but you are not cursed.”

Loki’s lips were dry. “What?”

His father’s strong hand gently gripped his shoulder. “Get up and look at me.”

Loki forced himself to his feet, trembling, ashamed.

“Look at me.”

Loki raised his eyes to the Allfather’s, small, insignificant, and very confused.  The Allfather sat down on the bed and put Gungnir down. Loki flinched. His father pulled on his arm, and Loki sat on the bed next to him, looking at the ground.

“Look at me, Loki.”

Loki turned his head, looking into his father’s eyes. 

“Do you remember the story of how we came to acquire the Casket?” Loki nodded. “What do you remember?”

“You took the Casket from them because they were powerful and evil,” Loki whispered.

“No. I took the Casket from them because their king, Laufey, made evil choices, and he needed to be stopped. He went to Midgard and attempted to decimate the mortals. Do you remember that?” Loki nodded again. His father’s eyes and voice were calming. Loki reminded himself that the Allfather knew what to do. He would know how to take all of this away. But most importantly, he wasn’t angry. He wasn’t afraid of Loki. Even if he believed wrongly that Loki wasn’t cursed. “Good. I ask you to remember that, because despite wild stories, the bad choices of a ruler does not reflect the disposition of an entire race. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Loki knew what he was saying, but he didn’t understand. “You’re saying that the Frost Giants aren’t evil.” He still spoke in a whisper.

“Jotuns, Loki.”

“Jotuns.”

“Right. They are not evil, nor are they cursed, nor are they monsters of any sort. I have tried to keep that sort of thinking away from you, but…not hard enough, I see. I’m sorry.”

Loki stiffened and looked away. His _father_ was _apologizing_ to _him_? “I don’t understand.”

The Allfather sighed and fell silent for a long moment. “Is it all right with you if I have your mother come in?”

Loki cringed. “I don’t want to…”

“There is no reason to think you would hurt any of us if you don’t want to, Loki, and you don’t.” The Allfather raised his voice. “Frigga.”

The door opened and Frigga slipped inside. Loki suddenly wondered how Asgard was getting on with both of its monarchs preoccupied with their cursed son. He wondered where Thor was.

Without a word, Frigga came and sat next to Loki on the bed, so that he was between them both. Loki looked down at the ground between his feet.

“Loki told me he touched the Casket and it changed him,” the Allfather said to Frigga.

“Oh,” she said, and took Loki’s hand. 

“The Jotuns have women and children too, Loki.”

“I know,” he whispered.

“You know, but you don’t understand. They are families. They are not all harsh warriors that you hear in the stories. I fought the warriors and Laufey who drove them. One single person does not need to affect the choices or disposition of anyone connected to him, and Laufey did not affect the disposition of one I found on Jotunheim the day I took the Casket.”

Loki’s chest was getting tight. He feared the tone in his father’s voice. He started shaking his head.

“Loki,” his mother spoke, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. “While your father was on Jotunheim, he found someone who needed help. He found someone who needed a home, who needed someone to look after him. He took that someone home to Asgard with him, and I gained another son.”

Loki kept shaking his head. 

“I found you, Loki.”

Loki cringed, hunching his shoulder and pressing his fist against his mouth. He was suddenly freezing. “No. No you didn’t. No you didn’t. You didn’t. No. I was born here. I’m Aesir. I’m Aesir. I’m cursed. I’m Aesir. No.” He huddled down, putting his head on his knees, and chanting that over and over. “I’m not. I’m not. I’m not. I’m cursed. I’m Aesir. I’m cursed.”

“Loki,” his mother’s arm went around his shoulders. “Do you know why we didn’t tell you?”

Loki didn’t stop in his chant. It was not true. It _was not_. 

“It’s because we didn’t think it mattered. It doesn’t matter if you are of Jotun, Aesir, or Nidavellirian origin. It _does not matter._ ”

“It does.” Loki’s chant changed. “It does. It does. It does.”

He felt another hand on his back, large and warm. Father’s. “Why does it matter?”

“I’m—” Loki couldn’t get enough air. He started gasping. “I’m not—I can’t—you aren’t my parents.”

“Yes we are—” Frigga began.

“You’re not my parents. You’re not. Thor isn’t my brother. Asgard isn’t my home. It’s not. You’re not. He’s not. It’s not. I’m a Frost Giant, I’m the enemy, I’m—I’ll hurt you.”

They were silent. Loki rocked. “I’ll hurt you. I’ll hurt you. You have to stop me. I’ll hurt you. I’ll hurt you.”

 The Allfather’s hand left his back. After a moment, Frigga sucked in her breath. “Odin, don’t—”

Loki cringed, waiting for the blow of Gungnir. He held his breath. Nothing happened, but he suddenly felt the air currents in the room, its temperature, its shifting. His father’s rough hand touched his arm—but it wasn’t. Loki was used to his father’s hand feeling rough, but now it felt smooth, and warm—too warm. A warmth that spread through his whole being until it gave him goosebumps.

Loki lurched upward, staring at his father’s face. “What did you do?” he gasped, confused.

Odin smiled down at him, softly. He lifted his hand, holding Loki’s wrist. 

It was blue. Loki jerked back, fell off of the bed, scrambled away. He looked to the side, at a mirror next to his bed, and a Frost Giant stared back at him. His green eyes were gone, and the clothes looked wrong on him. His hair looked the same.

That’s why he had black hair, Loki realized suddenly. That’s why he had black hair when the rest of his family was light brown and blonde. He shook against the wall, waiting to change back, but nothing happened.

“What did you do?” he cried, terrified, wrapping his arms around himself and unable to look away from his reflection in the mirror.

“Odin,” Frigga repeated, her gaze flickering back and forth between them. 

Odin got up from the bed, putting Gungnir back down, and he knelt in front of Loki. Loki sat still, tearing his gaze away from the mirror to look at him.

“When you touched the Casket, you changed because its Magic, the magic of the Jotuns, overpowered what has been keeping you in Aesir form.”

“Odin.”

“Tell me, Loki. Do you feel any different?”

Loki’s heart felt that it was going to pound out of his chest. He breathed hard. “What?”

“Are you going to hurt me?” the Allfather asked bluntly.

“Odin.”

“I—” Loki couldn’t respond. His father reached forward. Loki tried to jerk back, to scramble away, but his reach quickened until he caught Loki’s wrists and held them firmly, but gently.

“Here.” The Allfather placed Loki’s hands on his neck. “Now, are you going to hurt me?” He let go, and Loki’s hands stayed there while Loki gasped and felt the tears coming down his face again. He wanted to move, couldn’t make himself.

He finally drew back and set his hands against the floor, trembling.

“There,” the Allfather said softly. 

Loki’s heart rate slowed and he could breathe again. 

“That was not so terrible, was it?”

Loki swallowed. “Please change me back.”

“Do you—”

“Please.”

Odin took Gungnir in hand and knelt back down in front of him, touching his palm to Loki’s forehead. Warmth washed over him, cloaking him in relief. Loki looked back at his reflection, and locked his arms about his knees.

“Please don’t tell,” he whispered. His voice closed up after that, his throat blocked off all sound and he couldn’t speak. The two monarchs tried to get him to speak, but Loki just shook his head and rocked. He eventually crawled back into bed and fell asleep.

He didn’t have nightmares. He didn’t know if that was Eir’s doing, or his own, or the curse that apparently wasn’t a curse lifting. When he woke up, he just stared at the ceiling and obediently ate what Eir gave him. Then he turned over and pretended to go to sleep again.

Maybe the Casket hadn’t cursed him with magic, but Loki was still cursed. He was without a family. He was a _thing_. An enemy of Asgard stolen from Jotunheim.

Raised as a prince of Asgard, alongside Thor.

Thor.

What would Thor think?

Would Loki tell him?

He clasped his hands together, wringing them until his skin burned. And then he wept once more. Not like the past weeks, wild tears from fear and pain, but from a well that Loki didn’t know he had. A knot had settled at his core and the tears were trying to untangle it.

He didn’t know how long he lay there, but suddenly there was a hand at his back, rubbing him gently, and then the humming of a lullaby.

It was childish, he knew, but it worked, and Loki’s tears slowed. He kept his eyes closed and didn’t look, even though he knew it was Frigga sitting there.

The sickness passed, and Loki was able to stand and walk about again. He didn’t like to see people, and he didn’t want to tell Thor. Overwhelmed with curiosity, he squeezed permission from his caretakers to read books of Jotunheim and the Frost Giants. The Allfather censored some, but Loki was allowed to read a few history texts and factoids. It was interesting, really. He liked studying the patterns in the drawings of their skin, liked to read how heritage could be traced through those patterns when one knew how.

Loki didn’t, and he didn’t bother trying to learn. He didn’t want to go back to his Jotun form either. As he sat in the library in a robe, books piled about him and one on his knees about ice, he was suddenly aware of another presence. Loki looked up, and met the timid blue eyes of Thor peeping out from behind a bookcase.

“Hello,” Loki said.

“Hello,” Thor edged out. “What are you doing?”

“Reading about Frost Giants.” Loki shut the book and enjoyed the confused look on Thor’s face.

“Why?” 

“It’s interesting.”

Thor rolled his eyes and came closer. “Are you better now?”

“I think so.” Loki watched Thor, suddenly uneasy, as if his brother would be able to suddenly see through his disguise.

“Will you come out to the gardens with me?” Thor craned his neck to look at the titles of some of the thick books, and made another disgusted face.

“Not now. I need to go back to my room to sleep.”

“Why?” Thor complained. “You said you were better.”

“I am, but Mother doesn’t think so.” Loki tucked the small magic book under his arm and left the library, with Thor behind him peppering him with questions.

“What was wrong with you anyway? You’ve never been sick so long, and I haven’t either. It’s been so dull around here.”

Loki opened his mouth, intending to brush it off as a strange spell, nothing more, but the worry and trust in Thor’s eyes was too tempting.  “You dared me to touch the Casket, I did, and it cursed me with sickness.” Loki enjoyed the widening of Thor’s eyes. “When I eat sweets I feel a burning in my belly, and I begin to change into a panther!” Loki brought his hands to his face and bent two fingers next to the corners of his mouth, like fangs, and snarled.

Thor jumped back, mouth dropping open. “What?”

“I already changed once,” Loki continued as they reached his bedroom door. “And I tore through the palace to the kitchens and ate all the vegetables!” Thor stared. Loki nodded, somber.  “Even though I am getting better, I still get a craving for fresh peas.”

“When was this?” Thor gasped, leaning closer. 

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything.” Loki shrugged. He put one hand on Thor’s shoulder and tapped his chin with one finger, keeping the book pressed to his side with his elbow. “Eir fears it may be contagious. Lien from the gardens has changed once now too, into a mouse, we think. We aren’t sure where she has gone.”

Thor jerked back with a yell, batting Loki’s hand away. “Loki! Am I going to change to a panther now?”

“I think you would change to a bilgesnipe,” Loki said thoughtfully, then he grinned and jumped forward to poke Thor’s shoulder. Thor jerked back further, meeting Loki’s smile with suspicion.

“Did you really change into a panther? Truly?” 

“Truly. So don’t believe for an instant that curses do not exist.” Loki gave Thor a wicked grin as he shut the door in his brother’s face. 

That evening, by the light of the fire in his hand, he hid under his blankets and read the small book cover-to-cover, re-reading difficult paragraphs, trying to wrap his mind around it.

Then he pushed the covers back and slid to the side of the bed, where a glass of water sat on his bedside table. He dipped his fingers into the lukewarm liquid and a smile broke through his concentrated frown.

A sheet of ice spread across the water’s surface.

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are a bunch of fics with Loki discovering that he's a Frost Giant, but the idea for the scene with kid!Loki touching the Casket grabbed me and wouldn't let me go. <3


End file.
